A Matter of Interpretation
by yourerhythmic
Summary: Tom Riddle is a boy trying to forget his past. Harry is a boy trying to build a future worth living for. It's only logical when a charmed diary links them together that they start talking. What ensues are a series of events that everyone understands but no one expected. Rated M for later content.
1. The Boy Who Started It All

Harry James Potter was a fairly normal boy. He didn't have many friends, his aunt and uncle were unequivocally nasty towards him at all hours of the day and he had a cupboard as his permanent residency. Overall he couldn't say his childhood had been very bright. But today was his ninth birthday, and the young lad felt a small sense of hope quivering in his heart. No one ever remembered his birthday, but for Harry, another year gone by meant another year survived. Another year wiser, bigger, and closer to something… anything _different_ from the life he was living now.

Sitting on his dusty cot under the stairs, he thought about all the promises of growing up. Perhaps he could run away in a few years, once he had gotten a job and made some money. Once he had the resources and the wit to make a one-way train ride out to the continent amount to more than just a destitute youth perishing on the street.

His thoughts trailed off to other matters of less importance as grew tired from waiting until midnight to wish himself a happy birthday. Crazy fantasies like what if he could fly. Soar off to a crowded city in America or something of that sort where there were so many people that someone would be forced to talk to him. Harry's mind eventually settled on dreams of his parents, who he couldn't remember except for the smile in his father's eyes and the vibrancy that seemed to radiate off of his mother.

Loosing rapidly the battle with sleep, the boy reached up to grasp the light switch, sighing to himself that it wasn't all bad. Today was his birthday, maybe tomorrow would bring something new.

* * *

"Boy!"

Harry jolted awake as he heard a billowing outside his door. Scrambling to get himself up and conscious, he threw the door of his cupboard open to find Uncle Vernon standing on the other side. His scowl was as menacing as usual and dripping with blind hatred towards his nephew.

"Now see here," Vernon began gruffly, "the company picnic is this afternoon and for whatever godforsaken reason, my employer saw fit to dig into my personal affairs and now has personally insisted that you are to attend as well. Some dribble about hiding relatives posing a bad name to the company. Well if he knew the ungrateful, sniveling worm I was keeping from his doorstep he would be signing a different tune. Isn't that right?"

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry managed as politely as he could.

"We're leaving in a half an hour, so freshen up. Put something on that doesn't make you look like the_ freak_ you are, understood?"

Harry simply nodded, too afraid that his lips would betray him with a scathing or uninvolved remark.

Content with the way his orders were received, Vernon marched off into the kitchen where Petunia had taken to making breakfast earlier than Harry normally rose.

Harry closed the door ever so quietly, as to not procure anymore attention from his relatives than necessary, and slowly lowered himself down to the floor.

An hour later found Harry and the Dursleys rolling up to the long, cobblestone path that lead to a manor half a mile down the road.

"Is this it?" Petunia balked in disbelief.

"Yes," Vernon grumbled, "Grunnings came under new ownership a few months back. The man running it now is one of those aristocratic types. One of those rich families of a once powerful lordship who are just too big for their britches, if you ask me, a little too high and mighty to come down and mingle with the regular folk."

"Well are you on good terms at least?" Petunia piped, worried that her husband might have ruined any future invitations to the home without ever crossing their doorway.

"Slightly, he commended me once on my effort when he came in to review the office workers but his glare was unusually cold. As if he didn't know whether or not to kill me on the spot. What I ever did to the man I haven't the faintest idea," the man exasperated, "come on, the sooner we arrive the faster we can leave."

The home in question was expansive in its grounds. The front exterior flowed elegantly with roman-style columns and engraved designs of celestial inspiration. Standing at five floors high and obviously vast in dimension, the driveway was already riddled with cars and families flooding out by the dozen. When the four occupants of Vernon's car were finally out and orderly, they crossed the lawn slowly and followed the large crowd that was circumventing the building headed for its backyard.

Backyard was probably an inappropriate way to put it. It was more like a small field surrounded by exotic flora and fauna that separated the house from the stables, guest cottages and ultimately the forest and the very edge of the grounds. It was surprisingly bright and welcoming for the impression that the front of the house gave, Harry thought.

He stood at the iron-gate entrance to the back for a minute or so, breathing in the beauty of life inhabiting it. He wasn't allowed to go many places, and certainly not anywhere as nice as this. It was the most magical place he had ever seen.

Harry was quickly snapped out of his thoughts by sharp force of his Aunt's nails digging into his right shoulder as she pushed him forward.

"You're not embarrassing us with any nonsense. I don't care if you have to hold your breath until you can't see straight, you will behave," she hissed low enough for only him to here. "Now we're introducing ourselves to the host and his family together since they requested you be here so don't make them regret it."

"Ok," he replied in a small voice.

"Here we are," Petunia's tone instantly transformed to her typical diplomatically polite façade that she applied to all adults that garnered her respect or envy. Pulling Harry closer to herself, she intertwined her hand with Vernon's just as he and Dudley arrived at the main table to greet the homeowners.

"Mr. Malfoy," Vernon smiled tightly with an over-enthused voice, "thank you again for inviting all of us to your home."

The man in question stood to shake Vernon's hand, "oh it's no trouble at all. The manor has been in my family for generations but hasn't had the chance to see many functions in the last decade. It used to be a hub of starlets and dignitaries. It didn't seem right to keep everyone in the park by the bakery when there was a perfectly decent place here that was begging for human interaction."

"Yes, yes does seem like quite a shame not to show off this lovely venue," Vernon chuckled lightly trying to ease off the tension he felt. "Oh and this is my family," he beamed proudly. "My wife Petunia, my son Dudley, and… well this is Petunia's sister's son, Harry," he nearly chocked out the last part.

The blonde man scanned over them briefly, lingering for a moment on Harry and his spectacles before clearing his throat, "pleasure to meet all of you. And this," he gestured grandly at the two people rising from their seats, "is mine, my wife Narcissa and our son, Draco."

"It's so nice to finally meet you all," Narcissa reached over to give Petunia a cordial, albeit awkward, hug. "Lucius has told us so much about you."

"Good things, I hope." Petunia bantered lightly.

"Oh of course," Lucius dismissed. "Nothing but sunshine, rainbows and butterflies," he quipped. The adults all laughed in response, the nerves of the Dursleys visibly lessened as the illusion of their welcome grew concrete.

"Mother," Draco spoke finally.

"Yes Darling?"

"May I take Harry inside and show him the library? I think he'd rather like it."

"Why don't you ask Harry what he would like to do?" She suggested gently.

Harry's eyes grew to the size of saucers. No had ever asked him what he wanted.

"Harry would you like to see the Malfoy library? It's quite nice," Draco's lips quirked up in a timid smile.

Harry continued to blink, and honestly wondered if this was just another child playing a cruel trick on him when a particularly hard pinch by Petunia shocked him back into reality. "Um yeah, that would be great."

And then in another astonishing move, Draco took Harry by the hand and quickly pulled him forward and across the porch to enter the dark building that was his house.

* * *

If the outside of the house was grand, then the library was better than the Taj Mahal. Harry gawked at each and every book section as Draco pointed them out to him.

"And this…" Draco waited to regain the other's boy attention before continuing. Harry blushed slightly, ashamed at his own poor manners, as the blonde resumed "is the best part of the library." He stated this smugly as he gestured to at the large back wall that was close to twenty feet high and brimming with larger, mustier volumes.

Harry crinkled his nose, "why is this any better than the other books?"

"Well it is a _library _after all. Pick one and see for yourself."

After selecting a blue hard-bond work that was smaller and easier to carry than most of the books on the shelves in his reach, Harry looked over the cover for a moment.

"Introduction to Arithmancy? What's that?"

"I'd show you if I could, but it's hard to explain. Here," Draco reached for a burnt orange book with golden lettering, "this one isn't as baffling."

The book read _Hexes of the Twentieth Century_ in bold, squiggling letters. Flipping the book over and examining the chapters, Harry was growing equally perplexed and intrigued. "Mind if I give it a read?"

"Sure, we've got time." Draco proceeded to show Harry one of his favorite reading spots on the windowsill facing the gardens. "See that?" he pointed towards a clearing near the stables.

"Yea… are those large white birds roaming around?"

"Ah, not just any, they're our peacocks."

"I thought peacocks were supposed to be blue and brown."

"Most are, breeding albino peacocks is a bit of a hobby for my parents."

"Strange hobby," Harry thought out loud, only to cover his mouth in horror. "I didn't mean that."

"No it's alright. I think it's kind of weird too."

They stayed very quiet after that. Harry became very engrossed on a chapter entailing the process behind creating a hex that leaves your opponent under the distinct hallucination that he or she is falling in quicksand or into a deep cavern depending one the inflection of the incantation.

"Draco?" Harry said after some time.

"Yea?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Draco frowned, "what do you mean? All I did was show you the library."

"No you also asked me if I actually wanted to, and let me touch your books and even let me read one. Which I don't really understand how any of this stuff is possible but it's fascinating. And you haven't made fun of me yet or called me freak or anything." Harry still couldn't believe words continued to come out of his mouth; it was odd that he could say anything around Draco without getting punished for it or regretting it.

"That isn't being nice, Harry. That's just me not being a wanker. Anyone can do that."

"No one does for me," he admitted, his face dropping more by the minute.

"No one? Not even your family?"

"Especially not them."

Draco mulled over this and, against his more logical judgment, decided to remedy a bad situation. "Dobby!" he called loudly.

Harry jumped when a small, wrinkly creature suddenly materialized in front of where he and Draco were sitting.

"Master Draco! Mistress Narcissa says not to contact Dobby near muggles." The creature squeaked frantically.

"Relax, Dobby, this one isn't a muggle." Draco assured the skittish thing.

Harry's brows furrowed deeply. "What's a muggle?"

"Someone who can't do magic," Draco shrugged him off, "now Dobby can you let Mother know that I need her up in the library as soon as possible?"

Dobby nodded before snapping his fingers and vanishing once again.

"What was that?!" Harry demanded.

"A house elf, haven't you seen one before?" Draco seemed just as confused as Harry.

"No, how could I? And what's all of this about magic?" he glanced down at the book in his lap "Does explain why I kept reading about wands, though. But magic doesn't exist."

"Yes it does," Draco huffed.

"It can't," Harry persisted.

"And why not?"

"Because who's ever seen anything…well…magical!"

"Obviously not you," Draco snarked. "Honestly, what kind of family doesn't even let their nephew be a wizard?"

"But I'm not a wizard," Harry stressed. "Even if there are wizards, I can't be one."

"And why not, Mr. Potter?" a voice called out from the doorway. A tall man with dark hair and piercing black eyes stepped into view not long after.

"Uncle Severus!" Draco jumped off the seat and ran into his uncle's arms.

"Hello, Dragon," Sev relinquished a very small smile for the boy. "Now what's this about Harry Potter not being a wizard? Does living with muggles induce a perverted sense of humor? Because I fail to find this amusing."

"Because I'm not, sir," Harry addressed the man as calmly as he could, feeling that everything was getting out of hand. "I can't use a wand or make potions or—hang on…how did you know my name?"

"How could I not?" the man was cold and sarcastic in his retort.

"Uncle Sev, be nice," Draco admonished him.

"Well I'm sorry but who doesn't know the name Harry Potter?"

"I didn't," Harry answered honestly, "until I was six."

The snear on Snape's face was soon lost completetly. "Is that so?"

"Yea, Aunt Petunia didn't want to, but she had to tell me my name so I would answer to it in school."

"What did you go by before that?" Draco inquired.

"Boy, freak, stuff like that. I still do only when it's just me and the Dursleys."

The room was very still. No one made a single move until Draco saw a glint of a tear silently slipping from the younger boy's eye. He swiftly wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and coaxed him further into the hug.

"It's ok, Harry," the blonde whispered, "you can cry if you want."

With that his resolve crumbled and for the first time in his life, Harry Potter held on tightly as he broke down in the embrace of a boy he had only just met.

* * *

Later that night found Harry in the safety of another room within Malfoy Manor, his own.

The raven head slept soundly surrounded by mounds of pillows as Narcissa watched from the door. Gazing intently and reeling at all of the atrocity of the situation in her mind. When she felt satisfied that Harry was unlikely to wake any time soon, she walked slowly off to her own bedroom.

Lucius was waiting in his bath robe, reading the Daily Prophet on the bed when she arrived. "How is he?"

Narcissa shook her head, "alright but not as good as I would have hopped. We should have taken him from that awful pig and his harpy wife years ago."

"Albus would have intervened, Cissa" Lucius pointed out, "what would we have done then?"

"Given him severe rashes and blue hair until he listened to reason," she growled, "did you see the bruises he was hiding under those grubby tatters they had him wearing?"

"Yes I did, darling," failing to calm his wife at all, "he's here now, we'll take care of him. Let's be thankful we didn't get him in a worse state."

"Oh yes," she snorted, "let's be thankful he's only bruised and battered with ten bones out of place and re-grown incorrectly. He could have internal bleeding or sexual abuse to match!"

"Cissa calm down this instant! You are doing this boy no favors whatsoever by screeching like a mermaid!" Lucius barked.

Narcissa composed herself as best she could, "Lucius, listen to me very carefully. I don't care about plans anymore, to hell with all of it. That boy will not be going with the Weasleys. He is staying right here where I can make sure he is allowed to be a child."

Lucius carded a hand through his hair, "you know what the Order wants. That is completely against the plan. They want him surrounded by people who can love him."

"And we can't do that for him?"

He reconsidered this all for a while before simply replying "the Order wants a warrior."

"No, what they want is a one-man army that will take up all the responsibility and sacrifice for them," she stalked off irritated into their walk-in closet. "What they _need_ is a leader. Which, in case they haven't noticed, cannot in anyone's right mind be a boy!"

"He won't be a boy forever," Lucius offered.

"But he will have missed being one all together. Then what? All of his life leading up to a moment of purpose and then no one will need him." She grew angrier while looking through her clothing for a particular item, "unless of course it involves a 'celebrity' appearance or, heaven forbid, a political office because they're all too stupid to run the damn Ministry of Magic well."

Reappearing from the wardrobe with a heavier cloak, Narcissa was firm in her resolution, "I'll be back shortly." And then she stormed off towards the floo in the entrance hall.

"Where are you going?!" Lucius yelled after her.

"To see Molly! No mother in good conscious will go with this plan after this!"

"I just hope you're right," he said more to himself than anyone in particular.


	2. A Sense of Normalcy

**A/N: ha never done one of these before. Anyway, thanks for the views everyone! This chapter hints a little more to the whole plot but it's really for setting up the next chapter (where things actually happen). Not saying that Thursday updates will become a regular thing but I'll try to stay as consistent as possible. **

August brought many changes to Harry's life. Aside from the fact that he had been seamlessly integrate into the Malfoy household, he found that he rather liked the culture of the Wizarding World. He hadn't met many wizards yet but the ones he had, like Severus, Molly and Nymphadora, were quite nice. They at times treated him as a porcelain doll, but he figured that unnecessary concern was better than none at all. Nymphadora was particularly good at bringing out a sort of playful mischief in the boy.

Most of his mornings were spent with Narcissa and Draco, getting accustomed to various traditions, concepts and etiquette involved with being a pureblood. Not that Harry was entirely pureblooded, mind you his mother was muggleborn as he quickly realized. However as the Malfoys and most of the Wizarding community saw it, both his parents had been one hundred percent magical and hence Harry was as well.

And it was almost as if that fact didn't matter at all to Lucius and Narcissa. The boy was a delight in their eyes. A little too shy and many times they had to coax him into being more self-assured or accepting things that were offered to him, but he was kind and had a genuine aura about him. When ideas came to him naturally, his whole face lit up like the first star of a new galaxy.

Draco dotted on Harry, surprisingly enough. The elder Malfoys had been concerned with their son's ability to accept less attention for the sake of another. But those worries seemed to have been for not as the boys got along quite well when they did interact. And as if connected on a more subconscious level, Draco knew just as well when the younger needed to be alone.

This was something that rather surprised most adults about Harry. Having lived most of his short life in seclusion, they expected him to constantly crave and demand the attention that he had been deprived as the Boy Who Lived. However, it was Molly Weasley née-Prewitt that had predicted such an outcome.

* * *

_"Now one more time, 'Cissa dear. He has what, what and severe what?!" the redhead woman bellowed. _

_Narcissa was beside herself trying to keep the woman calm. "You heard me, Molly. It seems the conditions under which he was living were severely underexaggerated." _

_"I was afraid of that," Molly sighed tepidly. "Did you see them during the meeting? They all looked too gaunt to be just coming out of Hogwarts. And the poor dear, he hated the attention. Can't say I blame him, being brought up in such a disastrous home probably still feels like someone looking at him means a beating." _

_"No I was in the next room," Narcissa confessed, "I heard Harry, I know that. Sounded older than he really was. Who came back with him? Any of yours?" _

_"Unfortunately, yes," the older woman withheld any perspiration that dared to leave her eyes for another time, "George with a missing ear, Bill all scared up and Ron had a limp. They were all so...cold. Dead I'd say if I hadn't checked them head to toe myself." _

_"Yes I'm sure three grown men took that well," the blonde snorted. _

_"Ron did. He almost looked happy for me to embarrass him. Did you hear the girl? The one that was awfully close next to him laughing at him secretly loving my 'mother-henning' as she put it. I didn't like how easy he was around her. I don't even know her for goodness sakes!"_

_"She obviously knew you, dear." Arthur Weasley called out from the living room as a russle indicated his approach into the kitchen. "Went to you like all your children do when they're hurt or scared. Harry too, almost, though he looked like a deer trapped in a stunning hex. Now what's this about him staying with you, Narcissa?" _

_"I was merely suggesting that given the fact that he is much worse off than we originally thought it is only logical that we amend our original plan to have him live in the Burrow and give him the attention he needs, and privacy he clearly wants, in Malfoy manner," she expounded diplomatically. _

_"Of coarse" "Absolutely not" the Weasleys said at once. Molly having been in a agreement._

_"Arthur," his wife said softly, "as much as we can love him and have, apparently, he can't stay here. He will either get lost in the mix or stick out like a hypogriff in a field of thestrals." _

_He nodded soberly, "we won't continue this ridiculous fude now will we? Surely Draco's presence and own personal risk in coming is proof enough that our petty squabble can't go on forever?" _

_"Yes, I suppose even the facade of a fude is more of a detriment than not," the Malfoy matriarch admitted, "Lucius has abhorred keeping up that pretence for years anyhow. They really didn't give us much to change the future did they?"_

_"No, Miss Granger was adamant about keeping to the original chronology of events as closely as possible. Give them all a childhood, try the diary, don't touch the blasted rat until the full moon of May, 1993. I won't pretend to understand their logic but I will respect it." _

_"Hang on," Molly interjected, "why didn't they bring any old Order members with them? We can't all be dead can we?" _

_"No Ronald addressed that," Arthur's brows stitched together, "some mention of waiting with baited breath for a howler from you about playing with the laws of time and space." _

_"Oh yes, that's right. I should get on that," she smirked wickedly, "will that be all, 'Cissa?" _

_"Yes I think so, Molly. You're welcome to come see him any time you like. And bring your children with you, Harry seemed very attached to all of them. I would hate for him to loose the family he did have." _

* * *

With the Weasleys' blessing, Harry remained at the Manor. Juggling between keeping his new family close, and relishing in the ability to really think for himself for the first time ever. Most often when he wanted to escape the clutches of high society-and more importantly- the constant trampling of other children that constantly visited the manor, he went to the library. Hardly ever did someone stumble across him there, and when they did it was typically an adult, Draco, or surprisingly, Ron.

The youngest Weasley boy was especially amicable when he came wandering into the library. After the first time he had run into the vast room (hiding from his older brothers' pranks in an extreme game of hide-and-go-seek) Ron had found Harry in a chair much too larger for the two of them combined in the southeast corner of the complex. They were both rather shocked to find the other there. What with Harry being the "golden-boy", and Ron being a "ruffian" in the others' perspective.

It had lead to shouting match to end all shouting matches over who was less entitled to be there. And then it lead to a several blows from each side, literally. Eventually they both grew too weary to continue and Harry huffed sordidly at loosing his place in the book he had been previously occupied with.

"What's the big fuss with that ruddy book anyway?" Ron demanded, "is it about quidditch or dragons or something like that?"

"Not everything has to be about magic, Ron" his companion groaned, whether from annoyance or his own injuries neither really knew, "it just so happens to be about the greatest muggle mind the world has ever known."

"That guy with the really weird hair?"

"Who? Einstein?"

"Yea that's the one with all the theories on space. Man's brilliant."

"Yes he is, but I wasn't talking about him. No this book," gesturing enthusiastically towards the volume, "is about Sherlock Holmes. The world's greatest detective."

"Hang on, he's a fictional character. Just filling up fairy tales and story books. He isn't real."

"That's what muggles say about magic, you know."

"Why'd you ever hang out with a bunch like that? They all sound looney."

"You're missing the point, Ron," Harry pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, "to muggles we're crazy and to wizards, they're crazy. Just because you haven't seen it doesn't make it any less real in your heart."

"...'spose so," the redhead mumbled, "what's so good about a fake detective anyway? He can't use magic to solve crimes like Aurors do."

"Oh that's the beauty of it," settling back down in the chair and motioning Ron to follow suit, "he figures it all out with his mind."

"That's bloody rich," Ron snorted, "how does he do it? By looking at things until his little mind pops up an answer?"

"Shut up and listen if you're going to. If not, I know how to holler loud enough in here so that Fred and George could be storming that door in twenty seconds flats. Your choice," the smaller boy said sternly.

"Fine, fine, we'll do it your way. You're kind of mad for a Gryffindor you know that?"

"What makes you think I'll be a Gryffindor?"

"Your temper... And you're too bloody stubborn for your own good," Ron resolved.

Harry blanched "So are you!"

"Yea but it's the red hair," rolling his eyes slightly, "you're just going to learn how to deal with me."

"Fat chance."

"Nerd"

"Neanderthal"

Both were staunch silent. That is, until Harry bursted out into a laughing fit, with Ron closely behind him. From there, it was always insured that once a week during one of his family's many visits that Ron make an appearance in the library. Just to rile the raven-haired boy up, or to get lost in a new story book together...most of the times both, though.

And so from there, Harry James Potter's life became a routine. An albeit slightly tedious one, but it was important to focus on the marvel of consistency in a better light. Harry kept busy with his studies, both required and self-assigned.

* * *

He never really got over the fear that it was all an illusion. Some mornings he would wake up gasping, waiting patiently for Uncle Vernon to storm through his room door and take him back to Surrey by the ear or throat or worse. Other days were simpler and he calmly, but quickly, made his way to the breakfast parlor to make sure his guardians were actually alive and accounted for. On those mornings it wasn't unfounded for Lucius or Draco to see Narcissa coddling him to no end.

There were a few instances, unfortunately, where the nightmares simply couldn't wait. Flash-backs would take over his mind, filling his slumber with new, even more gruesome fantasies of what any one of his relatives could have done to him at any point or would have given the chance. Harry wasn't a fool. He knew just how responsible his Aunt Petunia was for half of the actions of her husband. Especially the fact that he had had little to no bad opinion of the Potters until Petunia had muddled his mind with hatred for all of them. She probably hated her nephew more than her husband did, the nine-year old thought. And her son had inherited a poisoned heart from both his parents. It troubled Harry greatly sometimes.

Even when he knew they were miles and miles away and he was here, with some of the best blood wards in the world that he had been added to when adopted by the Malfoys (which he was extremely grateful for and found that he rather liked being a Malfoy), it was still a hard pill to swallow that his aunt, uncle and cousin were never to lay a finger on him again. It meant facing the countless times before that they had, and the even more numerous times that they didn't but not without livid threats of doing so.

On nights when thoughts of the Dursleys were too much for him, he could be found in the bed of none other than Draco Malfoy himself, cowering in the arms of the older boy. It had been an accident the first time, having lost his way to Lucius and Narcissa's chambers. But he hadn't been unwelcomed.

_"I can show you where their room is, but in the morning," the blonde yawned deeply, "c'mon, you were already planning on getting in this bed, I won't bite." _

Harry had hesitantly entered the bed and proceeded to lay very still. Until a point at which Draco coaxed further into comfort and he began slowly divulging many of his fears. Not all of them, but most.

Those times in the early morning hours where Harry would confess all of his troubles, and Draco would contribute his own in addition to smoothing away both of their nerves, were special. In the darkness, they could say anything and everything with no fear of judgement. In the daylight, nothing was repeated but never were they forgotten. Over months, the two grew closer together to resemble brothers by birth and not raising. And if every once in a while, after a long grueling night of facing demons, Harry's bright eyes glimmered with a little more grey than green, no said a word about it.

It was on a cloudy day in February that Harry received a package.

The contents were a small navy blue and emerald green journal with a note attached. It was brief and written in a near illegible scrawl saying:

_Harry, _

_I think there's someone you should to meet. He's very much like you and in need of a friend. Be careful of his ego, he's fragile but fierce. I know you'll do the right thing._

_Use it well._

"Use it well?" he pondered out loud.

How do you use a diary well?


	3. Simply Can't Be Bothered

**A/N: wow I pick really weird times to update. Sorry X( Anyway this chapter had to be longer to get the plot moving. And just so everyone knows: **

**bold is Tom writing**

_italics is Harry writing_

* * *

_February 1939_

Tom Marvolo Riddle was at his wits end with his classmates.

He could not begin to fathom what went through many of their minds. Whether it was a profound stirring within themselves to be as "revolutionary" as possible for the idealism of forwarding humanity or that they truly had no wisp of intellect buzzing through the hollowed out chasms that they called brains, he would never know.

Despite all the groans and complaints that were typically directed towards the miscreants known as Gryffindors, the fact still remained that they were not the true root of his constant dismay with his school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a decent institution to say the least. The teachers were thorough and never turned down an opportunity to enrich his education further. Professor Dumbledore got on his nerves sometimes, but Tom supposed that the man was only trying.

From the time they had met almost a year and a half earlier, the man had seen past some of the boys more… unbecoming characteristics. He saw Tom more as a scared boy with many issues to sort other rather than the heathen that the muggles had come to know him as. On many an occasion this knowledge irked the boy to no end. But sometimes, though he'd never admit it, he was relieved that someone else saw it too.

Not that he was scared but that he wasn't truly whole. It felt like something was missing from him. Some connection between his soul, his mind and his heart wasn't there. More specifically, his mind was not on the same beat as the rest of the world, his soul was twisted and scrunched over into an odd and taught position, and his heart has all but stopped beating many years ago at the time of his first reprimanding at the orphanage that had once been his permanent residency.

He didn't like to dwell on any of it. There didn't seem to be a reason to waste his time pondering about nightmares that flitted through him when he closed his eyes or the horrors that festered in his mind when he stopped paying attention and the world melted away.

There were demons prowling in the darkness. That much the young brunette knew. They weren't the sort that ran through the forbidden forest. They were more ambiguous than a werewolf at high moon or stray thestral gone rabid, which probably made them all the worse.

They oozed from out of the darkness, clouding his conscious with every foul image a cruel mind could muster up. Every waking moment that Tom could not find a way to distract himself, they were there. Out of the corner of his eye, molesting the very fabric of reality, gutting the innocent, wrecking the weak, tormenting the meek and lonely with every possible demeaning taunt or physical abuse; more often than not, their energies were focused solely on Tom himself.

This pointed directly to the center of Mr. Riddle's troubles.

He was thirteen years old, a notable prodigy in all things magically inclined, and in his humble opinion, truly damned.

When Dumbledore had first met him, Tom had been convinced for the majority of their conversation that the wizard was there to send him to an insane asylum once and for all. Now after discovering his true heritage and thriving in their culture, he wondered if the old coot had been wrong not to leave him in the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's to rot.

He couldn't get through the day without thoughts creeping into his head. The doubt, the self-loathing, the pure hatred for anything with a pulse and its ability to wring his neck in at their leisure; he knew he was paranoid. He can't look at himself in the mirror most of the time without feeling the need to break the glass starring at him into a million tiny shards. And if he had to tell someone, calmly, to get away from him as fast as possible least he kill them one more time, he just might.

His classmates were…normal. Well, as normal as a group of supernaturally endowed adolescents could be. They had never earned his malice; they just seemed to pop up at the wrong times. Like when he had a deep coiling urge in his gut to do something…anything different. To either escape the darkness that surrounds him by fleeing to the furthest out posts of his mind—or forest if it's a particularly hard day in which being torn limb from limb feels like a merciful alternative—or to trudge deeper into the abyss that he had come to know as his sanity by lashing out. No matter the route he chose when he needed to, other students were always close enough to disrupt these thoughts so he couldn't find momentary peace or in worse cases interrupt a particularly dangerous stunt.

Tom was on high suspicion that Dumbledore kept a close watch on him. Especially after that time in the Astronomy Tower when the second year just happened to be a little too close to toppling over the ledge with a faulty broomstick when a hoard of fourth years came into "study" on a night where there was clearly no chance of star gazing.

He utterly hated himself when he got on tangents such as this, and that was not an under exaggeration. It kept him from thinking straight. Study hard, study well. Keep them all at arms lengths and maybe, just maybe, he could get out of this school with his body still intact and everyone else still alive.

It's what he had been doing since the second month being a student of Hogwarts. Books kept his mind occupied, grounded. People did sometimes too. But for the life of him, Tom Riddle had never met someone of his age that could keep him tethered to a conversation long enough to truly be distracted. Yes the professors did a fine job at that. Which is why he normally kept around them during off hours, and a few rare detentions when he was feeling particularly starved of contact.

But it wouldn't last forever, and he knew it.

Children grew up, moved on from school. He couldn't stay at Hogwarts forever and even if he could, those who were adults now would die eventually. And what was to become of him then? Who'd talk to the brilliant, albeit a true arse, of grown man who could barely keep from throttling himself let alone other people? Someone would find out eventually if they ever got close enough.

If they ever bothered to get close enough to the freak, that is.

After an altercation with a first year Ravenclaw and a back boogey hex that he had been using Arithmancy to morph into a long-lasting stinging jinx, he was tired of trying to restrain himself but not knowing how. Tom just wanted to hide away in the Room of Requirement, and not come out until one of the house elves pleaded him to get up and to go eat Monday morning before Potions with Slughorn.

Approaching the seventh floor corridor where it secretly lay, they boy cleared his head of all worry. The room worked best when he was at his calmest and most logical. Usually the request was for a place to keep his mind satiated or a room that would aid him into succumbing to his darker temptations. Hogwarts was a living entity in itself, so it never allotted him knives or iron rods. But when he was at his worst, it gave him a place of squalor to deprive him of all his senses and leave him with a gratifying numbness that chilled his bones.

Today was different, however. He could tell.

_"I need a room to keep me company." _Tom thought a few times.

Opening the large wooden doors, the lack of clear response left a bitter after taste in his mouth. It was a study room, more similar to the Gryffindor Common Room than anything else. The few tables were had books stacked as high as the ceiling. Opposite to him was a large fire place. Just in front of it were two couches facing each other and a short table that separated them, on which there was a small, black leather-bound book.

He was not dense in the slightest, so Tom ascertained it was put there for a reason.

It was strung closed with a small burlap strip. The pages were clean and crisp, and smelled newly made. Flipping through it, he noted that it was mostly empty. A quill and ink well appeared next to what he assumed was a plain old journal. Though it would be terribly ironic if Hogwarts were to suddenly take up the roll of mind healer.

The first page of it had a single sentence on it that was about as simple, yet puzzling a question as an inanimate object could come up with.

_How do you use a diary well?_

Tom shrugged, slightly perplexed and decided that the journal was enchanted to be intelligent. Similar to the sorting hat he surmised.

"I guess there's no right or wrong way to use a diary," he responded both written and out loud. "S'pose you just need to write in it. That's the purpose of a bloody blank book right?"

_Yea… that sounds about right. You know you're quiet clever for a book. _

**Well now, this is just confusing. I thought you were the book?**

_No I'm just writing in it. I thought it was a plain diary until you responded. _

**Then we're just writing to each other in separate journals is that it?**

_I suppose. But I have read about charms that can make an inanimate object sentient. _

**As have I, but they don't teach much about it at Hogwarts. Not until NEWT level.**

_Is that so? I found it in an old book in my family's library._

**Pureblood then? **

_Yea, I guess. I don't start at Hogwarts for another two years._

**Ah so you'll be an ickle firstie.**

_Is that meant to be mean?_

**I don't think so. **

There was no reply.

**So who are you?**

_Why don't you tell me who you are and then I'll tell you?_

**Why? Scared of something?**

_Not really. But the Prophet has been trying to get past our wards for months now. I don't want to ruin all of my father's hard work by talking to a person who could leak a story to them. _

**I wouldn't do that. First off, that would be completely uncultured of me. Second, those goons at the Prophet are not worth the galleons they drop. My name's Tom Riddle. I'm a second year Slytherin. Satisfied?**

_Yea, sorry. It's just hard to trust a stranger, that's all. I'm Harry Malfoy._

**I didn't know Abraxas had a younger brother.**

_That's because he doesn't._

**Cousin?**

_No…he was my grandfather…technically. But he's been dead for nearly a decade._

**Are you making fun of me? Or how is that even possible? You're in Malfoy Manor right now yes?**

_Yea, that's right. I'm in the main library, and you're in Hogwarts._

**Yes, and I just saw Abraxas this morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. **

_Hang on. We know where we are right?_

**Yes.**

Tom took a moment to ponder the rationality of this question. But then it occurred to him.

**The charms you mentioned. Were they from a particularly rare book?**

_Yea it was one of Rowena's first editions on magical artifacts. There something about using objects at completely separate times in correlation to one another as long as one was dormant in the earlier period?_

**Exactly. So we do know where we are.**

_But not when._

**Right, so I'm in 1939. When are you?**

_1990_

Well what was he supposed to answer to that? Here he was, stuck in not even the middle of century, talking with a boy who would be born when he was already an old man. What's the point in even bothering with him?

_You know I was sent this diary by someone. _

**Oh really? **Tom could feel the venom welling up in him. Not that all impressed with the younger boy anymore.

_They didn't say who sent it. It only had a note. _

**What did the note say?**

_It said that I should meet you. That we're alike. _

**And what could I possibly have in common with a pureblooded brat who's had their entire lives handed to them on a silver platter and will mostly likely never be in want of anything for as long as he shall continue his dull existence?**

Tom knew he had over stepped his bounds there. It was harsher than he had been to anyone straight to their face. He couldn't help it. Why does this child get to live in luxury at the turn of century when he has to bear the brunt of everything in the present? Why was he wasting Tom's time when he'd clearly grow bored of him in a matter of days. A weeks tops if he were particularly genuine.

_That's not true. I've never been handed everything. In fact I only just got a family. I had no one up until last July. _

**I thought you said you were a Malfoy. Not a bastard who's finally found his daddy are you?**

_No, I'm not. And I don't really care if you're fifty years in the past, I will not hesitate to find a way to go there a give you a piece of my mind if you keep on like this. I'm adopted ok? I'm a Potter by birth._

**Aren't they wealthy as well? What of your godparents? I don't understand how a nine year old born into the highest circles of Wizarding society gets cut off from that for most of their childhood. **

_For starters, I'm the last Potter. They're all dead and I was kept under a cupboard while living with my muggle Aunt and her family since I was a year old. I've been kicked, spanked, beaten, bashed, yelled at, taunted, sung songs of my freakishness and been generally cast aside as the town "freak" for most of my life. _

**You're serious? **

_You think I'd lie about something like that?_

**Point taken. I thought that stuff only happened in the orphanage. **

_Definitely not. Look, can we stop this bickering? Please? Unless you want me to further prove how pathetic I am by listing every insult I have ever been given. _

**You can remember all of those?**

_It's not really hard. There's only about ten big ones and then everything else is similar or a tangent about one of them. _

**Nah you don't need to. **

_So we're good then? We can talk like civil human beings? _

**I don't see why you'd want to talk to someone like me.**

_Why wouldn't I? _

Not having the energy nor the patience to explain to him a single dirty or grueling aspect of his life so far, Tom quickly shut the journal and left the Room of Requirements. Deciding for the first time in weeks to head to his room through the front entrance of Slytherin, he was eager to see students who pretended to be nice around him instead of a child that clearly saw him as no threat whatsoever.

The ickle firstie might give Dumbledore a run for his money on the list of people to personally maim. Tom grumbled to himself, admittedly not all that angry with the boy to begin with.

* * *

It was two months until Tom stepped foot into the Room of Requirements again.

He had tried interacting with second years, taking advice offered to him by seventh years, and taken up invitations to study and fool around with third years. It hadn't been all that terrible. Students could be amicable outside of classes where their worth wasn't based on the amount of information they could regurgitate and apply practically.

But old habits die hard. Ignatius Prewett found him in the boys' lavatory on the fourth floor while testing out potions and lathers for burns. Well that's what he called it, Ignatius seemed overly touchy about the fact that first Tom had to burn himself to see their efficacy for himself. It didn't really phase him if he still tried one or two knowing full well they had natural skin irritants in them.

The redhead had stormed out of the lavatory with a flurry of potions supplies in his arms, and was very cross with Tom about refusing to go to the infirmary. The last thing he needed was to involve more adults in his activities. It was bad enough that he had been "banned" from detentions for the rest of the term seeing as a few of the instructors caught on to the enjoyment he got out of it.

The second year thus came to the conclusion that if he were being deprived of his endevours, he might as well take a break from them all anyway. No one had told him not being utterly abhorred or feared would be so emotionally straining.

He was none too thrilled to see that despite his best attempts at getting the child he had met, sort of, out of his mind, the castle had other plans in store for him. The same room as before appeared with twice as many books and now a few more ink wells added alongside the quill and journal at the center table.

Deciding that Hogwarts, the stubborn arse of a building she was, wouldn't relent easily to him denying her wishes, Tom sat down once again in front of the diary. The pages were different this time, however. Several in the front were stained and tattered, as if written and then trampled over. The pages were covered in a messy scrawl that Tom could only guess was the handwriting of Harry.

There was a lot of it, actually. The boy had been hard at work. Tom figured that reading about someone who is yet to exist was almost as interesting as the muggle fiction books he wished to read through. There wasn't too much to catch up on and if he found the future boy to be profoundly amusing, he'd try talking again. If not there were loads of books waiting to be flipped through from cover to cover.

So he began from the end of the last page they had written on.

_I'm assuming by now that you've left. Which is fine, I can't imagine what time you found the diary so I can't hold you accountable for being late to dinner or something like that. Sorry if I kept you from something important. You'll probably come back later and you seemed so tensed up about sharing before that I thought you might like to know more about me before we next speak. _

_That is if you want to speak to me at all. _

_No worries if you don't. Like you said, I'm not even an ickle firstie yet. What could I say that wouldn't bore you? _

At least he didn't go walking around with his head too big for his own good, Tom smirked.

_I have time right now before my own supper is ready. About an hour, as a matter of fact. Which is good 'cause my mum gets rather worried when I don't go to meals on time. She and Molly watch me like hawks. It's because I'm not used to eating more than a meal a day and what I can scrape up from the kitchen without getting caught. _

That sounded far too familiar. The orphanage only gave out two meals a day and they were rather small. Most of the time, he got in fights with the other children when they tried to snatch his food from right under his nose. He couldn't count the number of times he'd left a roommate or some older boy out in the rain in the middle of the night because they had had the audacity to take away his roll of bread for the day. But we do what we must, he reasoned.

_You know I said father would be angry earlier, and I call her mum, but they're not really my parents. You've figured out I'm talking about the Malfoys yes? Truth is I like them. I like them a lot. They're more of my parents than my parents were. _

_I know James and Lily Potter made me, and they died keeping me safe. But I can't go the rest of my life not knowing what having parents are like. _

_You said you lived in an orphanage. I s'pose you know what it feels like too. Not knowing where you come from or who you need to be. You know my Aunt Petunia tried to drop me at the orphanage in London twelve times when I lived with her? She kept trying but they never would take me. _

_She always told me it was because I was too demonic, even for the most devote and patient of nuns. I heard it differently though the last time she took me. I was eight and the headmistress of the orphanage said they'd take me but they couldn't pay my Aunt a cent and I'd most likely end up in a battered children's home by week's end. She didn't like that really. It didn't suit her for me to get any sort of help while she didn't get a reward for keeping me around. _

_I can't say that I miss her. _

"I'd come find you and knock some sense into you if you did," Tom said to no one in particular. His blood boiled the more he read.

Harry went on a tangent from there, talking about how much he liked his new life. All the amazing things he'd learned about magic. The entries became more fluid the more comfortable he got. He even laughed at himself for some of his own mishaps.

_So Mr. Fortescue asked me what flavor I would like. I told him Rocky Road and everyone started starring at me. They were appalled and Draco asks me if Muggles really have an ice cream flavor that tastes like pavement. Of course then I had to explain what it was made of and the concept of marshmallows was a mess to get through. Mr. Weasley's a bit odd. He asked me the other day about rubber ducks. I didn't know what to tell him. They squeak? They're childrens' bath toys? Why do children need to be distracted so much while getting washed? He asks. Well they don't use magic so bathing children is much more of a hassle, Mr. Weasley. Molly had a fit and declared that she would have stopped reproducing after Charlie if she had to raise them all the muggle way. _

After an hour, Tom had reached Harry's lastest entry.

It wasn't too long, just that he had to go with his parents and brother to a Ministry formal event this evening and he was dreading it dearly.

_I'm not good around people. Especially too many of them. ESPECIALLY when they work for the Ministry. They all hover around me and they all want to touch me. Some are just handshakes, pats on the back. I just don't know what to do when people come up to me, sobbing and hugging me. They keep thanking me for saving everyone. But what did I do? My parents' got murdered when I was a baby and I didn't. They shouldn't be thanking me. I didn't do anything. What am I supposed to tell them? _

That's where the writing seemed to stop.

_You're welcome? Sorry I'm still breathing? _

**You sound too much like a martyr. **Tom added before Harry could press forward.

_Oh do I? Nice to see you too, by the way. _

**Hello, lovely weather I'm having. I'm sure yours is miserable because I'm not there to make it better with my stunningly vibrant personality. Is that what you want to hear? Your hero complex is astounding. You know for someone very smart, you're very dim on other people's value of you. **

_I have no idea what you're talking about. _

**Well you obviously don't think you're worth the oxygen you breathe. **

_Is this all you're going to do from now on? Not talk to me for weeks and then berate me on my self esteem? Which by the way, you are completely wrong about. _

**I've been busy. It's not as if befriending someone who I shouldn't know about for decades was at the top of my priority list for this year. We both know I'm right about you. You've been living there for what? Eight months? And you can't seem to get it through that thick, messy head of yours that you aren't on probation. They're not going to drop you back off at the Dursleys just because you act anything less than prim and proper every once in a while. **

_So we're friends now? Is that what you've decided?_

**That's what you took away from me ripping you a new hole? **

_Just answer the question, Tom._

After a silent minute, he wrote **yes, Harry. I suppose we are.**

_Good. Then as your friend can I tell you how truly lousy you are at giving a pep talk? _

**Correct me if I'm wrong, but friends aren't supposed to lie to your face. You want to hear something encouraging about putting on a brave face and before you know it, the night will be over. Truth is that it's going to be a long, arduous and boring ordeal in which you play politics and smile like everybody's favorite pet. You're not going to have fun like you would at the Weasley's and it certainly won't be the last time you do it.**

_And…_

**And what? You can't be forced to go.**

_Well I'm not._

**I don't see a problem then. Don't go.**

_But I need to._

**WHY? **

_Because my father is about to get promoted so we all have to be on our best behavior, and Draco is introducing me the ambassador's son, his best friend, before he comes to live with us over the summer. I can't miss that, they need me. _

**My point exactly, Harry. You don't hate people, you hate fake people. You can't stand half the Ministry because from what you tell me they're nit wits in silk robes giving favors to their friends while harassing people that don't agree with their policies and neglecting magical beings as if they were brute savages. And you absolutely abhor the press because they've been spewing lies about you and invading your privacy since day one. They're just as bad as the muggles you left am I wrong?**

_No, you're right. _

_I guess it doesn't matter, muggle or wizard, some people are just awful right down to the bone._

Tom laughed a little at this. He could only imagine Harry, reluctant to admit anyone was ever anything but good intentioned and pure of heart.

**You might be right there. People are people, for better or worse. **

_Doesn't mean we can't change it. _

**People don't change, Harry. **

_Sure they can, Tom. It's just a matter a finding the right people to stick them with._

**What like partners in crime? Two peas in a pod? That sort of thing?**

_Something like that, yes._

**What's the point? We're born alone, we'll die alone. **

_"I'd like nothing more than to die in your arms."_

**Please tell me you didn't come up with that.**

_No, can't remember where it's from. _

**Good. I don't have to personally vomit on you now. **

_Tom, I have to leave in five minutes. Will you promise to not stop writing after today?_

**Yes, yes, I promise. Stop being mellow-dramatic. Just go already alright? **

_Ok. I just want to know that we're going to be alright._

"You know what, Harry," he said in a low whisper, "we just might."

* * *

**A/N: More to come**


	4. In the Interim

_Excerpts from Tom and Harry's Diaries_

**June 1939**

**…I was surprised to hear from you that Muggles have achieved forms of video communication. Television you called it? I just don't see the efficacy of having a blanket form of communication to the masses without being able to contact individual parties via it. Everyone is supposed to watch the same thing but by themselves in their homes? What is it good for? How is that better than keeping radios how they are now? Is it better than the Prophet? Seems like an easy distribution point for numbing propaganda. **

**Hang on. That's not a bad idea. **

**How much has the Wizarding World changed? I wouldn't suppose much but you're the expert, you tell me. Do you still use the wireless? And owls? I doubt they've stopped using the floo, it's too convenient to move on from. Have they at least fixed the kinks in international apparition? **

_July 1990 _

_…I told them I didn't want a big fuss for my birthday, I swear. But I understand that they think I need this party to make up for the other eight birthdays that I didn't celebrate. We really didn't celebrate it last year either. What with Mum and Papa taking me from the Dursleys I think Uncle Sev was the only person to wish me a happy birthday, but I don't care. It was worth getting over looked for a moment. _

_I wish they wouldn't give me these looks whenever we talk about plans for the day. I swear I'm trying to look as enthusiastic as possible. Not too happy so that they treat me like a deprived child who doesn't know what it's like to have a normal life—let's be honest, I'll never be normal—but not so indifferent that they think it's too much for me and decide to tip-toe even more around me. _

_I'm not unhappy. It's been almost a year. I should be used to accepting help and kindness from others when they offer it to me. Honestly, I'm not sure I ever will be. _

_Does that make me a bad person? _

**September 1939 **

**Well, another year has commenced on my side of the century, Harry. **

**Not much to report, except there is an inordinate number of first year Ravenclaws. **

**I did receive my time table this morning. Slytherins have Herbology and History of Magic with the Gryffindors so there's not much chance for feeble clashes this year… during class that is… **

**Astronomy, Charms and Transfiguration are with the Hufflepuffs. I haven't made a conclusive opinion on that yet. Just know that if I don't write back for a matter of weeks, assume I'm in the infirmary because if there are two things a Hufflepuff can't handle is their temper and being poked fun. Whatever you do, do not, I repeat do NOT double cross them. They are not as sneaky as Gryffindors but their typically docile demeanor is the perfect alibi.**

**For my electives, I decided on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Muggle Studies is the most backwards, inaccurate dribble I have ever heard, and the professor is an even bigger loon than I thought possible. Care of Magical Creatures was too… outdoors-y. So much fuss over a bunch of dirty animals. I heard there used to a course on magical beings though. I would have liked to take that class. **

**Oh, I almost forgot. For some reason that I can't begin to fathom, I've been placed in Divination against my will. Headmaster Dippet insists that a "promising young wizard" such as myself shouldn't be disadvantaged entering the world with little to no knowledge of Divination. **

**Sometimes it really feels like they're all just keeping me around to groom me into a figurehead or something of the like. As if they only care if I succeed so long as it serves them. **

**Maybe that's the point of every student they try to shove into a meaningless Ministry position. Working as an Unspeakable could be interesting. At least I can have that to look forward to since no one really knows what they do. With my luck, it's probably just filing classified paper work. **

**Curse breaking, for Gringotts or one of the banks in Paris would be nice. **

**I could get out of here, work with dark artifacts. Maybe even do research for St. Mungo's…**

_November 1990 _

_… It was surreal, Tom. I…it all makes even less sense to me now. _

_They were good people, heroes, even. Why did they waste their lives on me? _

_Legacy is a weird concept when you mull it over. _

_What's going to be left of us when we're old and hollow? Wizards live for a longer time than Muggles don't they? _

_I heard the average was around six hundred but could be pushed to a thousand eventually. _

_Who'd want to live that long though? But then again, with everyone living that long and a relatively small population, it shouldn't be too bad._

_Our age difference wouldn't even look that weird to people after a few centuries. _

_Wouldn't that be nice, Tom? People could look at us, not looking a day over forty, and just know we're friends. They couldn't even see the decades that separate us even as I write._

_Do you think if you left something for me somewhere hidden. Somewhere you know only I would find. That you could potentially send me something physical from way back then? Wouldn't that be cool? Just knowing that someday, I'd be in the exact same spot you were starring right at a piece of you. Not literally but you know what I mean. _

_And even if I responded to you that same day in your time, it'd still be lying there where you left it for years to come._

**January 1940 **

**There's an aspect of pureblood society that we've never spoken of before. I'm not sure if it's because you don't care for it or because your parents have veered you away from the subject in attempt to preserve your childhood for a little while longer. However something occurred to me this morning during breakfast with Ignatius and Abraxas. They both send their regards, on that note. **

**Marriages and alliances are greatly revered in the Wizarding World. Many marriage contracts are drawn up at birth. Due to some additional candidates between social climbing families and affluent half-bloods with ties to powerful muggles, arrangements continue throughout Hogwarts years.**

**Do you realize that I'm officially halfway through my Hogwarts career and I have yet to be approached by any families? **

**Is there something wrong with me? **

**I mean on the outside. None of my internal flaws should be evident and all the professors and parents agree that I'm one-of-a-kind. They think I'm headed to high places. Are they being sincere or just ruffling my feathers because I'm transparent and they fear for me? **

_February 1991 _

_We've been friends for a year. _

_I almost can't believe it's only been that long. It feels like we've known each other for years._

_I don't have much time today, Mum and Papa are taking Draco and I over to the Weasleys' for the night while they go to Munich on business. _

_I couldn't miss the chance to tell you thanks. _

_You listen when I'm too scared to talk to anyone else about what's running through my head. I hope I do the same for you. _

_You're brilliant, Tom, really. Sometimes I'm worried that you over think things and it ends up hurting you. _

_Don't be so hard on yourself, alright? _

_With love, _

_Harry _

**July 1940 **

**Not sure when you will see this, but considering the fact that it is still July 30 in 1940, I officially declare that there can be no one else who says this before me. **

**Happy Birthday 11****th****, Harry. **

**I can't wait to start hearing about your adventures in Hogwarts. **

**Warm Regards,**

**Tom **

* * *

_Mum is taking me to see Hogwarts for the first time tomorrow._

**What about Draco?**

_He's already been. He used to go all the time to see Uncle Sev when he was little._

**And that doesn't bother you?**

_Why would it? It was mainly before they really knew about me. The only time he's visited since I became part of the family was back in May to help show Blaise around. _

_Why is it that only the pureblood first years see the school before the Welcoming Feast? _

**It's the pureblood families that make up the Board. The privilege comes with the huge endowment they contribute annually. **

_What about the Weasleys then? Ron's coming along. _

**They didn't always used to be poor, you know. And Molly's a Prewett yes? **

_Yea _

**Oh they've got to have some pull still left. They're friends with the Malfoys and Blacks after all. Plus Arthur's doing very well for himself lately hasn't he?**

_Definitely, the election campaign is going very well. Fudge is extremely unpopular with the voters. _

**Why is that? The incumbent candidates usually fair a bit better don't they?**

_I'm not really sure. Apparently a pensive memory and a recording of an interrogation under veritaserum were leaked around the Ministry. _

**What were they about?**

_No one will tell me. They're keeping it under wraps as much as possible. But enough of Wizarding London works in the Ministry. I think at least one in every magical family works there. So whatever it was, the majority is not voting for Fudge. _

**Ah well, good news for the Weasleys then? **

_Yea, it's really cool. He's not going to get that much of a pay raise. Life's not going to change drastically for them either since Molly's adamant about rebuilding the family's inheritance and trying to split it up among the seven children._

**That's very generous of her. **

_It's fairer that way isn't it?_

**You and I spend a tremendous amount of time debating what's fair. **

_This is the first I've heard you complaining about it. Does it bother you?_

**Eh, not really. Most people don't seem preoccupied enough with social morality. **

_Someone's got to then. Why not us? _

_Hey, do you ever wonder if we could actually visit each other?_

**That's called time travel, Harry. It's too complicated to even try.**

_Since when? They have time turners don't they?_

**Time Turners are very temperamental and they tend to work like a match stick with any jump further than a few weeks. **

_Meaning? _

**Meaning you could go back to see me, but you'd be stuck here in World War II London. **

_Why couldn't you come to see me then?_

**Same reason, I would be a very lost boy stuck decades past my prime. **

_You'd be away from the war. _

**It isn't so bad to run away from it.**

_Not yet_

**How bad then?**

_It's just going to get a lot worse before it gets better._

**Because that's not cryptic at all.**

_I can't tell you, I'm sorry. But it's not just about safety. You could stay here. My parents would be more than willing to take you in, and you could be around people that care about you._

**No one cares about me, Harry. **

_I do! _

**Uh huh**

_Tom…just THINK about it ok? _

**Think about what? Running off to the almost twenty-first century with a pre-pubescent boy who is almost as emotionally constipated as me? What a great plan. **

_What's the matter?_

**You think just because I'm not riveted by the presence of the GREAT Harry Potter that there's something wrong with me? How narcissistic of you.**

_Don't you dare try to pull a fast one on me, Tom Marvolo Riddle! _

Tom flinched a little at the use of his full name. Even if he had never heard Harry's voice, he knew the boy had a bit of righteous fury in him that could rival most parents.

_You're trying to toy with my feelings to deflect whatever insecurity you're feeling right now and it isn't going to work._

**Really? **

_Yes really. I've put up with your foul moods often enough to know when you're in a vicious mood versus when you want to push people away. And you promised you'd never use that name or my supposed status against me like that!_

**If I'm such an immature brat, why do you put up with me? Cut your losses, why don't you? **

_You're not listening again. I care about you. I really do. Even if you try to shove me off the deep end a quarter of the time, and especially more since I've gotten to know you._

**You know nothing of me. **

_That's still more than anyone else in the world isn't it? _

**I'm not going to indulge your desperate attempt to have a purpose in life by responding to that bit of dribble. **

_Well whether you believe it or not, it's true. _

_It goes both ways. _

_I just wish you were here in person so I could tell you how much you do matter. _

After a long time, Tom responded.

**You're too good to me. **

**You should learn not to be so trusting. **

* * *

Mum had given him permission to wander off in search of the library. Which Harry was intent on doing, up until he realized that no one would miss him if they expected him to be there the entire day. Hence, he concluded that sneaking off to the seventh floor to find the Room of Requirements wouldn't get noticed or be grounds for punishment.

He didn't know exactly where it would be, except that it would appear when he needed it. Harry walked around slowly thinking about the kind of room he was looking for.

_I need to see the room Tom uses…used. I need to be able to share that room with him. _

Three quarters of the way through his tour of the seventh floor, a large wooden door formed some feet in front of him.

The room was beautiful in Harry's opinion. Simple and rustic yet elegant, the furniture was well worn and many books were scattered around the floor. Some in piles, but many were book marked and tossed at random. A few of them were obviously placed in one of Tom's more obscure organizational methods on the center table.

It was all very intimate, making Harry feel like an intruder on someone else's memory. The light leaking in from the cracked curtains was enveloping and pointed straight towards the center of the room.

A note was left on top of a black leather book.

**Harry,**

**I don't know if and when you'll see this, or if you'll ever want to find this room. I hope you find it. To every deity out there, I hope you get this. **

**I haven't got a clue as to how old you'll be or what I said this time. **

**If everything goes according to this time stream, you once told me that you'd only come here when you were so cross with me or someone else that you just wanted to be alone. So I apologize for whatever stupid stunt I pulled this time. **

"At least he knows himself," Harry snorted mirthlessly.

**It makes you feel safe, you said. You really are going to regret meeting me, fair warning for the millionth time.**

Harry balked at the letter. How long has it been since Tom had been the fourteen year old boy he had just argued with the night before?

**Ok to keep things simple, it's almost midnight on April 23rd, 1944. **

Tom's seventeen, that was almost enough context for Harry, almost.

**I'm using a modified spell on a time turner I pilfered to get to tomorrow in your time, 1995. **

"That's a terrible plan and you know it," he berates the piece of paper.

**I can almost picture you admonishing me for this plan. But you know what? **

**I don't care.**

**If you're allowed to have cokckamainy plans that can get you nearly killed, why can't I?**

**You can't do this alone, Harry. It's an even worse plan than mine if you except to go through with it solo and come out alive. **

**If the dates correct and you're getting this when I'm about to leave, then cross your fingers, pray this works, and perhaps stand away from the coffee table yea? **

**I might land on top of you by accident. **

**If you get this before hand...way before hand... don't worry. I'll figure everything out, even if I have to wait longer to see you. **

**I am coming, Harry. I'm just sorry I said no too many times to count in ways that were less than pleasant. **

**Don't give up on me. No matter what I say, don't be discouraged by my underwhelming responses. You're doing me a world of good just by being you. **

**Don't stop. **

**I'll see you sooner than you think. **

**With love,**

**Tom**

The letter, though still entirely too confusing to the eleven year old did spark a lot of hope in him about his friendship with Tom.

What a difference three years could make, and that was enough to keep Harry going for a very long time.

* * *

**A/N: I should have another chapter up in the next 24 hrs, believe it or not. **


	5. Meet the Prewetts

**A/N: This chapter caused me great anxiety. I kid you not it was supposed to be longer (it's a long chapter, fair warning). But I couldn't rush through any important details. I did end it before getting to the meat of the action. Next chapter will be dedicated to the World Cup and the start of Fourth Year. **

* * *

_August 1994_

The Prewett family was considered by the larger part of the British Wizarding World to be a very odd bunch.

And such an opinion from a community of people who were quite literally stuck between the Victorian Era and modernity said a great deal about the public's opinion of them. There were many rumors that floated around about their reappearance into society nearly five years before. Most people had their own conspiracy theories and bets running with friends. But despite a nagging feeling of disbelief at the backs of most people's minds, everyone who knew of them could recite their story like the premise of a good book.

There were six of them in total. Three were the biological younger brothers of Molly Weasley née Prewett, the wife of the Minister of Magic. Supposedly they had been sent into hiding by their late Uncle Ignatius, just as the First Wizarding War came to fruition.

They all jointly owned and ran a small shop together in Hogsmeade that catered to most of the student body of Hogwarts. Within their shop, named _Nargles& Moon Frogs _in memory of a friend, the Prewetts featured a wide variety of books, potions, gags, sweets, and muggle odds and ends that were hard to find any place else.

Liam Prewett was the eldest of the surviving brothers. He had a warm heart and a wonderful character if one took the time to get to know him. Most of the students that frequented the shop loved to ask him about any one of his fantastic tales about working overseas. The younger students were especially intrigued by him and his numerous battle scars from the war; particularly the one on his face that was said to be the work of none other than Fenrir Greyback. Out of politeness, people tended to shy away from asking him about the remnants of claw marks on his face. But every year there was always a brave, or dared, soul that would meekly inquire if it was true that he was a werewolf.

To which Liam would laugh heartily and tell them, "sorry to disappoint, but no. I do know a few good stories about some real werewolves, if you're interested." From there, other students would gather around for a rare tale of the magical being refugee camps or even something from the front lines of the war.

Older years tended to favor these stories the most because they were almost always new and few adults were ever willing to bring up the war. The middle Prewett brother and his spouse were fine examples of this reluctance.

Gregonius, known as Greg to his friends, and Damian Prewett were a bit of a mismatched pair. Greg was gangly, scruffy and laid back while his younger husband was petite (in comparison), demure, and over all refined. Damian was reportedly a Black by birth, who had been intended for Greg since their days as toddlers.

When they had first come out of hiding and officially wed five years ago, they had been at odds with one another constantly: swinging erratically between clashing personalities and a silently-pained, mutual understanding of the other. Many onlookers assumed the marriage was purely for convenience. Even Greg, the incorrigible romantic, would admit their unlikely beginnings to anyone who asked directly.

But not too long after their nuptials were cemented, they found a balance to themselves as a unit. Gregonius suffered greatly during the war, losing both an ear and his brothers. It had taken some of the light and liveliness from his eyes. He restored much of his inner joy with time, but he matured tremendously, adding decades his to soul. Damian had lost everyone and everything in the war, with the exception of his fiancé's family. He realized far too late that he had spent his childhood fretting over politics, reputations and society that he nearly missed out on being young. In the twilight of the war, he had come out with everything his parents had expected him to be, and truly alone.

The couple learned to reconcile their differences and accept each other's help in recovering. Most days they can be found in the back room of _Nargles& Moon Frogs _either experimenting with explosives or testing new elixirs for everyday use. At nights they could be found at one of the local pubs, lifting everyone's spirits, or in their home nestled—the two floors above their shop—keeping their family and each other close.

They were each other's sutures, reinforcing the floodgates that kept their agony at bay.

More to the point, neither of the two spoke of the war outside the confines of their bedroom during the wee hours of the morning. When anything is possible, and promises made to the stars could hide behind the warmth of the rising sun.

Irini Prewett was the only woman of the group. Not that her minority standing handicapped her in the family dynamic.

She was as sharp as a whip with a silver tongue to match. Her wicked sense of humor was rivaled only by her brother-in-laws'. Irini was really a patient woman, eager to enrich young minds with the latest anthology suggestion or anecdote up her sleeve. She tended to be a very free spirit with kind praise for nearly anyone.

There were very few things in life that bothered her. Narrow-minded views, however, were absolutely forbidden in her presence. Her opinions on the matter of the rights of magical beings—breaking down the barriers between humans, veelas, centaurs and "dark" creatures like vampires, werewolves, elves and incubi—were highly renowned and respected. She frequented both the Ministry and Hogwarts to give lectures on interspecies inclusion.

"Fear of the unknown is a trait indicative of the human race," Irini's most famous lecture noted, "we as wizards have the unique opportunity to see past the illusion of fantasy that most muggles perceive our world to be in order to pierce through the veil of physical limitations and tap into the infinite possibilities that magic and imagination can grant us.

As such, it is not only degrades our image in the International Magical Community to exclude a large portion of our population merely because they do not require the use of a wand to morph reality, but it is also an affront to our own intelligence by writing off these people—yes, people of all nationalities and creature heritage—as less sentient and deserving of basic rights because they are different."

In recent years, the Ministry of Magic has seen many creature rights and inclusion bills, under the guidance of both Mrs. Prewett and the heads of various councils. There were many more obstacles involved in the reassimilation of magical beings. However the legal discrimination was all but dead, and that was an enormous step in the right direction.

The social discrimination was a constant struggle that came with the rearing of witches and wizards. Pureblood families, especially the more established ones, had some ancestors or relatives with creature heritage and were subsequently enthusiastic about their loved ones regaining status in the British Wizarding Community after years of systematic ostracizing. Muggle-borns and half-bloods raised in the muggle world were already enough out of their element that they took in the addition of other legends from their childhood fairytales into their daily lives in stride.

It was the condescending attitudes of magically-raised half-bloods and lesser purebloods that caused the most trouble for this social revolution. Embittered by the regained advantage of competing pureblood families made the transition much more difficult; placing Irini in the position to politely convince them to shut their traps and learn to accept the world as it was changing.

She rarely got into all-out quarrels with patrons of her family's shop. One exception was the time a group of fifth year boys accused her of being an attention-getter who wanted a charity case to rally behind because she was too insecure about her own blood status and was projecting it on a group of stupid animals who don't understand what she's doing for them.

Gritting her teeth and holding back as much venom in her voice as possible she hissed lowly, "you poor, naïve little boys. Do you have any idea what's happening to them? Even now?

How would you liked to be ripped from your homes and families? Poached for your aesthetic appeal, bound and twisted beyond recognition. How would you like to wait for months while they tortured and conditioned you to be the perfect pet? Would you like to beg and plead every night that you get turned into a breeding mare so they can rape and fatten you up because it's a kinder fate than getting sold off to the eastern European brothels?"

It's rumored by some of the students passing by the shop that they saw Irini slowly roll up one of her sleeves. They couldn't make out what was carved into her arm, and to this day the boys in question do not speak of the day, but it could clearly be heard that she chortled with an unreadable glint in her eyes.

"Would you even last five minutes as a prisoner of war and prejudice? Could you live with the constant knowledge and reminder that you could be killed at any moment because of what you were born into? That your 'kind' has gotten mercilessly slaughtered like cattle and no number of obliviates or dreamless sleep potions can ever make it better?"

If that wasn't enough for the youths to run from Irini's sight in fear and grief, then the act of her husband levitating them and shoving them out the door abruptly, catching them all unaware certainly did.

Reginald Prewett—Reg for short—acknowledged that he was a simple man with simple wants in life. He got just that being the manager and book keeper of _Nargles& Moon Frogs_. The man was a strategic genius and used his talents to increase revenue exponentially every year since their opening in 1990. But he also came with a righteous fury to match his wife's and that tended to go over poorly when dealing with children who got on his bad side. In all fairness, it was extraordinarily hard to cross Reg.

The few fights between the couple had experienced were legendary. Including one breezy afternoon in November of 1992 when the entire village of Hogsmeade exuded a potent, yet sweet, aroma while the entire shop of N&M exploded and poured out a chocolate tidal wave onto the street in front. When asked what the argument was over, the youngest Prewett couple begrudgingly muttered "date night".

The youngest of all the Prewett siblings and spouses was a rather interesting story.

James Harper Prewett—who preferred to be known simply as Harper—was an eccentric person. After a nasty quarrel with an old lover some years ago, he was oblivated and sent off to live in muggle America as a form of revenge. A year and a half later found Harper accidentally running into Liam, a childhood friend, on a holiday in Italy. When it was discovered that the younger man had several memory spells placed on him, Harper was quickly flooed back to London for immediate assistance at St. Mungo's. He still retained a great deal of fabricated memories and experiences from his year abroad. This expertise later lead the family to extend merchandise in their shop to include muggle electronics, clothing and other devises that Harper was always happy to explain and deconstruct for customers.

Out of all the Prewetts, Harper was by far the loudest of the group besides his short stature. Which lead to the present moment only a few hours away from 422nd Quiddicth World Cup final.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! You're holding us up! Get your arse down here now before I drag you by your ear and make you explain to your mother exactly why we're two hours late!" he yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

"Oi! Harry! Last time I checked, I was married to 'Mione, not you," a lanky redhead stumbled ungraciously down the corridor and descended to the second floor of their complex.

The shorter man shrugged, "family is family. I have full nagging rights. Plus being your best friend _should _count for something. Now c'mon, you only get to see your parents a few times a year. I will not dampen the mood by allowing Molly to go postal on us."

"I'm twenty-three years old for Merlin's sake!" Ron bellowed. "Can't she just send an owl or something when she wants us to come over for dinner? It wouldn't be that hard, especially since everyone's in Hogwarts or out of the house now. It's not life or death if we keep her waiting! Back me up here, Hermione."

Hermione had draped herself lackadaisically across the couch in the sitting room. "Oh, I'm not getting into that one," she smirked, "it took her ages to warm up to the idea of me and I have no intention of getting on her bad side now."

"Fine, don't support your poor husband," he grumbled, "alright let's go then. Where are the others then?"

"Bill, Draco and George left forty-five minutes ago," Harry stated matter-of-factly, "we've missed the last portkey of the day out to Quiddicth grounds by about twenty minutes."

"What?!" Ron began scrambling around their flat frantically, "why didn't you wake me up! We were supposed to help Dad set up the tent! We're not going to get a good camping spot and we're going to end up missing the entire game because we won't get a decent seat and I can't ruin watching this match a second time!"

Just then, Draco came through the floo. "The bags are already with Molly. Arthur is just getting the children up to take the portkey with the Diggorys, and I sent George ahead with Bill so they can scout out a spot to pitch the tents. Everyone ready?"

Ron blanched, "I thought you said they caught the last portkey of the day?"

In response, Harry and Hermione bursted out into fits of laughter.

Draco rolled his eyes, seemingly unimpressed with the spectacle. "Have you by any chance looked at the time, Ron? It's four o'clock in the morning. The sun won't even be up for another two hours."

Through her continued giggles, Hermione added, "sorry, Ron. It was Harry's idea. Thought we could get you out of bed faster if you thought your mum was going to give you a hard time."

"I fail to see the humor behind your little 'joke'."

"Oh no, it was hilarious."

The redhead's frown deepened, "I think I liked you more when you were fussing over spell diction."

"You love me," she bantered back, "let's get a move on. I don't want to apparate when all the morning portkeys flood in. You do remember how to apparate don't you?"

"Ah stuff it both of you," Draco called their attention. "I'm leaving now and whoever wants to follow my trail can and whoever wants to stay here with their lips quivering like a couple of love-struck dolts can. Harry will you be accompanying me?"

"Why I do believe I shall, Draco," he replied with a feigned aristocratic stiffness.

* * *

In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, the entire nation was in shambles. Both muggle and magical inhabitants had a severe loss of property, resources and man-power. The death toll was astonishing and although the win lay ultimately in the hands of the Light side, many wizards and witches scrutinized how ineffective their side had been in extinguishing the threat of the Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

On the receiving end of many of much of this dissent was an eighteen year-old Harry Potter who honestly couldn't give anyone a straight answer.

"It's madness out there, 'Mione!" he shouted from the windowsill of his flat above Florish & Blotts in Diagon Alley. "One minute, I'm ending the bloody war and everyone seems content to get out there and pick up the pieces, and the next they're all at my throats because it's suddenly my fault that no one listened to the fourteen year-old who said VOLDEMORT IS FUCKING BACK!"

"If it's any consolation," she started meekly, offering him a mug of tea, "I didn't see them rallying against you either. I mean, sure, I thought they'd try to pressure you into becoming a politician at some point." She paused to glance worriedly at the crowd chanting fierce calls of rebellion, "Just didn't expect it to be before the dirt settled and for them to demand you fix all their problems."

"And that's another thing, why do I have to be the one who fixes everything?"

"You did save them all in the end. Maybe they want a strong leader they can trust."

Harry snorted, "then they should be begging you to go out there. Not yelling for me."

"At least they don't see you as the prodigal child anymore," she offered.

"Yea at least there's that," he hummed, slightly more content. "But even if I were to go and join the Ministry, there's just too much too fix. The taxes need to be reformed to stop favoring purebloods. Orphanages, adoption agencies, homeless shelters and rehab centers all have to be started and maintained. Properties, war reparations, criminal trials, contacting the veela and werewolf councils, rebuilding Hogwarts with state money, paying everyone who fought on our side, relocating families… it's just all too much!"

"It's going to have to be done sooner or later, Harry. Whether you do it or someone else does."

"I know," he sighed exasperatedly, "but then what about the Death Eaters?"

"What about them?" Hermione sat down next to him, dying to understand what could possibly be the problem with the remains of Voldemort's supporters.

"Besides the fact that we'll probably be chasing the ones who slipped from our grasps for decades, has anyone ever stopped to consider how truly damned their lives have been since the first day anyone of them came in contact with Tom Riddle?"

"So you want to rehabilitate them?"

"Maybe, but that might not work and it could just be a waste of your time and mine."

"Well we can't just give them their lives back, Harry. Most of them are repeated murders, rapists and sadists with abusive histories. We can't blame it all on Tom and send his clinical unstable disciples off into the world with a slap to the hand, and a firm 'don't do it again'."

"I know, I know," he gritted his teeth, "I just wish more people could have come out of this war with more than an arse load of bad memories."

"Hey, what happens, happens. We can't change the past now can we?"

Inspiration struck Harry and a moment later, he was bolting towards his book case. "Actually, Hermione, we can."

"Harry?" She called after until she realized the error in her words, "that's not what I meant! Don't you even think about it!"

He turned on a dime to face her. "Think about what? I haven't even told you my plan yet."

"You want to use a time turner to go back and make it so Tom doesn't turn into Lord Voldemort," she jabbed her finger into his chest accusingly.

"Alright so you did know what I was thinking. But it could work!"

"No it can't Harry," she tried very hard to let him down gently. He had been so on edge the last month since the final battle that she didn't want to be too rough with him. It was bad enough that he had had to die in order to defeat the Dark Lord. Who knows the kind of trauma that was running through his mind when he refused to talk about it. Which is why she had put it on herself to stay with him while he adjusted to his new life; she also didn't have the faintest idea where her parents were and she was sure as long as they were safe, she could put off finding them for the sake of her friend.

"But I _can_, Hermione," Harry insisted fervently while gesturing towards the matted old book he had grabbed. "A suitable time turner works up to a hundred years in either direction. There's even a spell that can turn it the appropriate number of times in a matter of seconds. I can't change everything, I know that. But the world could be so better off if we took a few mortal blows to the dark side to dampen the momentum of the second war."

"There's no way of knowing it'll work for sure," the brunette reasoned.

"It's worth a shot."

"You'd be gambling with the very fabric of time and space for what? A shot in the dark that a few people might _not_ get killed?"

"It could be thousands of lives, and even if it doesn't, I could probably save a few."

"Is it really worth the risk?"

"Even if I only save one person, it'll make a difference."

"What if turner malfunctions and you get stuck too close to the present?"

"Then I'll help on the front lines."

"What if you can't get back?!"

"It's time, Hermione. I'll be back eventually."

"What if you get killed? Have you even considered for a minute that YOU COULD DIE ALONE IN THE PAST?!"

"Yes," he clenched his knuckles together until they were so white, they were translucent. "I have contemplated this thoroughly."

"THEN WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT THROWING YOUR LIFE AWAY LIKE THAT!"

"IT BEATS SITTING AROUND HERE, REGRETTING THE FACT THAT I AM STILL ALIVE!"

"What?" 'Mione whispered.

Harry drew in a slow breath, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I wasn't meant to be here, Hermione. I was never supposed to survive the war. I wasn't supposed to live to tell the tale."

"But you did, Harry," she soothed, "and now you can live your own life. You can be...whatever you desire."

"That's just the thing. I don't want to live in this world anymore. It doesn't feel like mine, it feels like the cold carry-out from last night that tastes funny and wrong no matter how many times you reheat them."

Hermione braced her old friend tightly, "oh Harry."

"You know I didn't even get to enjoy being a kid, never with the Dursleys and hardly at Hogwarts. I feel like an old man ready to die."

"So what are you going to do? Go back and relive the glory days?"

"Nah," Harry grinned shyly, "I was thinking of tipping off the Order so they have years to prep for the war. Then set up a new identity and hide in plain sight. Maybe join the cause if it gets to that point. I just want hope, 'Mione. We just won a war, but everyone lost."

"You still can't do something so crazy by yourself," she lightly quipped, "I won't let you."

"You'd come with me?" his emerald eyes shined with a spark that they hadn't seen in years. "What about the Ministry? Creature rights? Ron?"

"The Ministry will still be in the past, silly. Ron could come along too. I think he's just as sick of everyone right now as you are. Magical Beings could start getting their rights back sooner rather than later which would be nice. Hang on," she mulled over a thought carefully. "If Voldemort got the majority of magical creatures and beings on his side because he promised them their rights back, why don't we just give it to them? Yea, I like this plan. We go back in time, fix the economy and politics and that takes away half of Voldemort's forces and saves the hassle of some reform later. Problem solved."

"No, problem not solved. We still can't let Tom make his first horcrux. He was still human until he crossed that line."

"But that was a deep-seeded psychological trauma that he had with the idea of withering and dying like his mother did."

"It was more than that," Harry implored, "it was a boy who got whatever he wanted after a childhood of abuse, with the exception of anyone to invest real time into caring for him. The one thing I had that he didn't have was friends."

"We're going to give Tom Riddle friends?" Hermione's disbelief was obvious. "How?"

"We don't have to give him a lot of friends, just one. One who understands what it's like to be a scarred little boy before Tom turns into a bitter, dangerous man."

"Where are we going to find a child like that?"

"Don't worry," he reassured her, "I've got just the one."

* * *

After informing Ron of their plan, and adding tremendously to the list of mission objectives, Harry and Hermione gathered the remaining Order members and former Hogwarts students in a joint debrief and farewell.

"So you're not coming back then," Ginny stated, it wasn't even a question.

"We will, eventually," Harry responded with a silent apology burrowed deep in his eyes.

"It won't be the same," she muttered under her breath.

The gathering had erupted into smaller conversations on the matter once the trio had explained the details of their voyage. People were coming over in intervals to bid farewell to the three. Mrs. Weasley had a problem letting go of them after what was meant to have been a brief hug. Having made them promise to visit her past self as often as possible, she and Arthur left the crumbled Great Hall.

Several minutes later found a tap on Harry's shoulder drawing his attention away from a conversation with Neville on plans for the coming year.

"Potter," Draco Malfoy addressed him softly with an air if humility.

"Yes Malfoy?" His tone was even and his face, neutral. He had no idea what to expect with this kind of reverence.

"Any chance you have room for one more on your suicide mission?" the blond bantered with no malice or sarcasm to be found on his person.

"You want to come along? Really?"

"Let's face it, Harry," he gestured at the desolate building around them. "There isn't much left for me here."

He had never called Harry by his first name before. It sounded rather nice if Harry was to be honest with himself.

"S'pose you're right, Draco. But are you sure? This isn't something you can change your mind about in a month or a year. We're talking about eight years and then a lifetime of being out of synch with your real chronology."

"I did listen to your little pitty party," Malfoy retorted defensively. "I want to help too. Anything to keep children from fighting in this war, I want in."

This caught Harry slightly off guard. "Ok then, Ron, Hermione, are you alright with this?"

They answered simultaneously.

"Of course."

"Yes the ferret can come."

"Wonderful," Harry beamed, "let's go then. We're off in an hour and we have an extra person to accommodate."

"You better make that three extra people, Harry," a voice said from behind them.

"Bill? George? You guys want to come?" Ron gaped at his two older brothers.

"Are you kidding? Messing with history itself is too rich of an opportunity to pass up on!" George declared.

"What about you, Bill?" Harry inquired cautiously.

Bill shrugged, "there's not much left for me here either. Some things in this world are just not meant to be."

He was referring to Fleur leaving for the Continent just days after the Golden Trio had escaped to the Shell Cottage from Malfoy Manor. It wasn't that she didn't love him anymore, but her veela inheritance had awoken, despite how little part of her genetics it made up, and it coaxed her to seek out her true mate. In the end, Bill understood and supported her need to go find her mate. That didn't mean he was happy or unscathed by her leaving, however.

With that, they arrived about a month before Harry's ninth birthday. They gathered as many Order members (former and future) as possible along with the Malfoy to attempt to explain their situation as well as they could manage. A few detection spells, counteracting spells, screams, interrogations, and a round of veritaserum later, everyone believed them.

The adults listen to the selective information the group gave them. Mainly it was some tid-bits of the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War. Why it was worth the time travel, and how much Fudge's administration hurt their side.

It was staunch silent for a long time after they had finished speaking. Arthur was the one to break the silence "What can we do to help?"

The travelers released a breath they hadn't realized they were holding.

"We need to remove Fudge from power," Harry began. "And reverse most of the damage his administration has done, but we can't do it overnight without looking suspicious. More importantly, we need to start changing the paradigm from within the Ministry, and gradually, so any changes we make will be concrete by the time the Second War arises."

"As riveting as this is, Mr. Potter," Lucius Malfoy interjected, "if you don't mind, I believe my wife and I need a moment alone with our son."

Draco swiftly stood up from his seat on the floor and exited the room without so much as a reply or a glance back. The other five took regained the crowd's attention as the elder Malfoys followed their progeny into the adjacent drawing room.

Meanwhile Hermione was outlying their key political strategies, the Malfoy heir was fretting over how to deal with his parents' disapproval. The first one to meet him was his mother.

"Hello Draco," she said softly with a tenderness in her eyes that he hadn't seen since his father's first stint in Azkaban. It caused tears to well up in his own.

Narcissa lunged forward to catch him as his knees buckled, "there there, Dragon. I'm right here see? You can tell mummy what's wrong now can't you, darling?"

"I'm just happy to see you," he choked out.

His broken state just about broke Narcissa's heart. She couldn't imagine what he had gone through to turn the bright, determined young man she saw in her son into a scared little boy who felt like he hadn't been able to show emotion and compassion in a very long time.

"Draco," Lucius said in monotone from the doorway, "pull yourself together this instant."

The young man chuckled, "it's good to see you too, Father." Knowing the man as well as he did, Draco surmised he had no idea how to handle these new developments and was defaulting to a facade of control and superiority.

Lucius dropped his guard for a moment, letting the grief for the world to come slip onto his face before resuming his aristocratic manners. "Would you be so kind as to explain to us the purpose in our being here alongside the Bloody Order of the Phoenix? Even if the Dark Lord were to return, I hardly see our family defecting to Dumbledore's side."

"Very true," Draco acquiesced, "which is why I asked for you to be involved this time. Which is why I'm begging you now, please, help them. Even being neutral would be better." His lips were stumbling as he fought to keep his composure.

Narcissa whispered in horror, "better than what, darling? What happened?"

Her son shook his head violently, "c-can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's too much...information...best leave it at that."

"Please, Dragon, _please_," she begged as pulled him in closer to her. "You can trust us."

"No," he shuttered, "don't make me."

"This has gone on long enough," Lucius growled as he rushed into the room fully.

"Lucius," Narcissa warned, "you will not say anything to upset him further."

"No, Cissa," the patriarch raised his voice, "you're mollycoddling him again and at eighteen years old, no less. You will stop this right now and Draco, you will tell us what happened during that blasted war."

"But-" Draco protested weakly.

"No you will tell us and now."

"You're not listening, father. There's a-"

"I don't care about repercussions. You will inform us or we're leaving."

"You don't know what you're asking for."

Lucius narrowed his brows in an intimidating manner only used for his most hated enemies. It caused Draco to flinch and back away from both of his parents.

"Is that a threat?" his father provoked.

"No..."

"Then do as you're told."

"With all do respect, sir... I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"Now come, Draco, you're being obtuse."

"Why is it so hard for you to just take my word and trust me?"

"Because trust is something that is earned and not guaranteed, especially to blood. Your entire refusal is beyond a shadow of a doubt a very stupid idea. Without any context of the prior situation I must make assumptions for myself. Meaning that I have no reason to trust your judgment. You may be my son, but you are not the son I raised. There are nearly ten years of your life for which I can neither account for nor take responsibility for my actions."

"Luc-"

"No, Narcissa," he silenced her, "Draco obviously had many short comings in his education from us so it is high time he grew up. He needs to know that trust deems reciprocity and that all I see right now is a sniveling, ungrateful, treacherous, disappointment of an I heir. _Not_ my son."

Draco mumbled something into his mother's shoulder.

"And now he can't even speak like a civilized human being," Lucius lamented.

"I said," Draco cleared his voice, "how dare you.'

"How dare I?" the eldest Malfoy parroted.

"Yes, how fucking dare you accuse me of being anything but one hundred percent loyal to you and your petty little power trips? You know I used to worship the ground you walked on? In school, I followed all of your ludicrous 'Malfoy edicts' on manners and relationships. I did _everything_, to be just like you so you would be proud if me. And you know what that got me? A fat load of nothing, since not even you wanted me. No one did, in fact. They alienated me with the exception of a few that feared me and some who tolerated me because they could see through all your kind games.

"Do you really want to know where your spineless arse leads us to in the war? You got sent to Azkaban twice. The second time you got the kiss within a week. Not even Harry could save you from that fate and he got Mum off with house-arrest and me free minus may inheritance. The trials aren't over yet and we still lost everything but the house.

"You wanted to hear about how I disgraced the family name by fumbling and failing miserably in the eyes of Voldemort?" Both his parents gaped at his utter indifference to the name. "Fine, I'll tell you then all about the sixteen year old who refused to kill his headmaster and unfortunately had to get it covered up by his godfather JUST SO HIS FATHER WOULDN'T BE RELEASED FROM FUCKING PRISON JUST TO GET RAPED AND SO HIS MOTHER WOULDN'T GET TORTURED TO DEATH BY HER DERRANGED SISTER."

He had screamed the last part at the top of his lungs. It was heard clearly in the next room over, leaving everyone speechless.

Draco snapped into his own, seemingly unaffected, facade and walked out of the room. Glancing back briefly to whisper viciously, "and you can't even imagine the terror of knowing that a mass murder who's displeased twitch your father resides not fifty feet away from your bedroom."

* * *

"You'll need a really good cover," Nymphadora suggested a few hours later into their meeting. The entire group—Lucius remained standing at the back of the room, Narcissa was still in the drawing room—had agreed there was too much riding on the success of this plan to put it off even for a night.

"You're telling us, sweetheart," George grunted although he took extreme satisfaction in knowing he was older than the auror. "The problem is creating identities that not only link us to each other, but to all of you in some way that is easy enough to explain and logical enough to understand without much further thought. We were thinking posing as a family, but with six people, being a random group of half-bloods isn't going to cut it. What we need is a name that's almost dead somewhere in the Black line. That way we have prestige to back us plus access to the vaults via Harry without drawing attention to ourselves."

"I fail to see the problem, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall challenged.

"We can't use a surname that's completely dead, because then people will get too curious about how we suddenly popped back into existence. But we'd have to ask permission of a member of a line that is dwindling or in the process of dying so we can take the burden of estate and lineage from them permanently. The less people who know who we really are, the better."

"Use the Prewett line," heads whipped towards Molly's figure coming out of the kitchen in 12 Grimmauld Place with a large kettle of tea.

"But Mum," George hesitated, "we couldn't possibly-"

"Now see here, George Weasley," Molly snapped, "I've lost enough children today to last a lifetime and I will not see the six of you fade into the background because your disguise is too weak to go out into public more than on special occasions. So shut your lip and listen. The Prewetts were highly respectable and your uncles were well loved. We mainly kept to ourselves, though, since my parents refused to be ostentatious with our lifestyle before or after we lost most of our money. Your grandfather used to say we were an old family and 'much less in need of being out and about than those attention-whoring Malfoys'," she paused to comment "his words not mine," looking apologetically at Narcissa who seemed less troubled after the older woman showed her a subtle kindness.

"Anyhow, with the life span of wizards, our fertile years extend into our early hundreds at this point. It would be perfectly feasible that I were to have three younger brothers who were stowed away into hiding during the first war. You would have mainly been children back then, and we sent trains full of young ones to the Continent for safe keeping. You could have waited until you were finished with your schooling in France to return. Well, the youngest at least. The family resemblance will cover our connection with you for the public."

"What about Hermione, Harry and Draco?" Ron prompted.

"We'll just have to make your wife and husbands" Molly shrugged.

"Come again?" Hermione piped.

"Married individually, dear," Mrs. Weasley corrected. "We say the three of you were promised to them prior to going into hiding, and that will tie up any loose ends as to who stays with whom."

"Three engaged marriages, isn't that a tad too convenient?" Hermione scrutinized.

"Not at all, pureblood families have been setting up marriages for their offspring for hundreds of years. What better way to ensure your line continues then by ensuring your children reproduce isn't that right Lucius?"

The entire congregation turned to look at the man gaping, unsure why he was brought into the conversation before resolving to simply answer the question. "It's a form of insurance to keep the bloodline strong, yes. But theoretically, for a family with six children—the majority traditionally keeping their birth names—it would be highly irregular for so many marriages to have formed without implying their blood status to be diminishing and therefore, unsavory to associate with."

"How about we change a few details then?" Hermione suggested. "Say Ron and I were classmates in France and fell in love. Then one of the other pairs could be arranged and the other could have met later in life for whatever reason."

"Fine but who's going to marry who?" said Harry.

"I'll marry Draco," George shot up from his seat, "I mean, if that's alright with you."

"Sure," the blond responded softly. "I'm not unknowingly agreeing to 'round the clock pranking am I?"

"Nah," George slid down to the floor next to Draco and slung his arm around him, "just a good old fashioned arranged marriage. Sounds good yea?"

"Yea, I guess it does," his gaze met George's for a second before reverting back to the floor.

"So then it's up to Harry and I to cook up a fantastic 'how we met' story then?" Bill bantered, cracking the first smile any of the six had experienced in a very long time. Things were started coming together; maybe this could be the home they were looking for.

"S'pose so," Harry added. "I'm up to the challenge Bill. What do you say?"

"I say we get some Firewhiskey, start brainstorming, and see what sticks when we're sober."

"Hold it you two," Hermione barred the direct entrance to the kitchen. "Aren't you forgetting something, Harry?"

Harry looked utterly perplexed for a moment, "oh that, right." He turned back to the Order, "we want to try to stop Tom Riddle from starting either war in the first place using a more diplomatic approach."

"Diplomatic meaning what, Potter?" asked Mad-Eye Moody.

"Meaning we stop him from becoming Lord Voldemort not by force, but by helping him when he needed it the most and when benign neglect hto the worst impact on his formation as a person, his childhood. We give him what no one was ever able to, a friend. A real friend who understands what it's like to grow up with muggles who could care less about his existence and then be shoved into the Wizarding world where everyone either kisses the ground he walks on or thinks he's a freak."

"How are we going to find a child like that?" interrupted Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Harry tried his best to stifle an unpleasant retort. "That would be my area of expertise, actually."

"Seriously?" Nymphadora yelled.

"Yes seriously, Tonks. Now as I was saying, we came here to this time because it's also the best moment to take in my younger self from the Muggle world, get him acclimated to being a wizard, give him a proper family to get used to the idea of being cared for and then introduce him to Tom during second year. About 1939, which is perfect because he will have just gotten used to being a wizard, but it's still early enough that he isn't sucked into pureblood politics."

Minerva called out "could that really work?"

"We're hoping so, Professor," Hermione elaborated, "a friend of ours came in contact with the diary he wrote in at Hogwarts. Some years later she described to me some of the things he wrote as a student, even going as far back as his third year. It's gravely apparent that not only did he have a good amount of megalomania, but he was a text book case for depression. They didn't treat for mental illness back then and he didn't have anyone to confide in. If we catch him at the right time and give him a support group, I'm not saying it'll patch him up good as new, but it will give him some grounding in reality."

"So that's our plan. We haven't sorted everything out yet but we've thought it through rather thoroughly, painstakingly so," Ron grumbled the last comment, "any questions?"

"Who would Mr. Potter live with once we extracted him from the Muggles," Lucius had considerably loosened up since the start of the meeting and decided to be constructive to the conversation.

"We were hoping my parents would take him in," Bill answered.

"If that's alright with both of you," Harry added hastily, "you offered every year to take me home with you instead of going back with the Dursleys. I know this isn't exactly the right time, but I was hoping you could give him that family experience that I never got."

Molly's eyes had a damp sheen to them, "of course, Harry dear, you have our word will take care of him."

"I have a question," Severus spoke up for the first time.

"Yes, sir?" the six said almost simultaneously.

Severus smirked a bit at his ability to make students listen to him, present and future apparently, "Mr. Potter, this is quite the gamble of your own life. Are you certain you're prepared to leave yourself literally in the hands of meddling adults?"

"First of all, my going back in time and staying means we're two separate people already. With any luck, he'll never have to become me. Second, this is going to be a better set up for him than the Dursleys ever were.

"Trust me, those people are vile and unfit to parent. Can we please just drop the matter? We've spoken to Albus separately. Although he was reluctant to tamper so much with history, he respects our decision to try to safe guard against too many civilian deaths and a war-torn country with nothing left but a slow-burning hatred for what caused their misery."

Draco got himself up from his spot on the rug and offered a hand to George. "Well I think that's about enough wallowing for one day, it seems to be about five in the morning and I doubt anyone would object to some breakfast?"

* * *

Later on the group decided that Hogsmeade was the perfect location got set up their new life. Not nearly as crowded as Diagon Alley but far less secluded than anyone of the estates they had separately inherited. Additionally, Hogsmeade was close enough to the school to keep an eye on their younger counter parts and provide assistance when needed. They even acted as substitutes for the professors when needed and took great satisfaction in getting Gilderoy Lockhart removed from his position half-way through his abysmal year of teaching DADA.

In order to fly under the radar, and not draw suspicion from the students, they made a few cosmetic changes to their appearances using a few glamours and little alterations here and there.

Hermione permanently dyed her hair a deep red, similar to that of the late Lily Potter. They also added a few well-defined angles to her facial structure and deepened the brown in her eyes. Harry allowed his hair to grow long, about shoulder length similar to how it looked in his fourth year, and changed his trade mark green-eyes into a spectacled hazel-green mix. Originally he had toyed with the idea if mimicking Draco's eyes but thought they were much too noticeable. He later became thankful for that decision when his younger self woke up one morning with grey eyes and was unable to revert them back to green via magic as he had done numerous times before.

Draco, realizing how much he had changed physically since he was a child, opted not to change his appearance, and instead keep his hair tousled and wear more muggle clothing than robes. Funny enough, that deterred anyone's notions of him being a Malfoy. Bill cut his hair to a shaggy length and added a few magical tattoos along his arms. He claimed that he was going for a gruff look that he wouldn't have contemplated during his more rebellious years.

George and Ron didn't change much either. Having an ear missing was different enough, George argued fervently. Ron opted to have his eye color match the brown of his mother's, but the three Weasley, now Prewett, men didn't want to risk significant alterations in order to keep up a familial appearance. Their ploys did prove successful overall. However both Rons were sick of hearing how the younger "looks so much like his uncle Reginald." The older nearly filleted Minerva the one time she pulled that joke.

Now despite their ability to make glamour s rather quickly, the Prewetts decided against taking their glamour s off in privacy in case anyone ever caught them unaware. Then for the sake of not confusing people, they insisted that the keep to their alternate names and that the children be kept in the dark on the matter. Regardless of who knew, they tried very hard to keep the children out of any conflicts, but worked to improve the standard of education at Hogwarts so they wouldn't need to make a new DA for the same reasons as last time.

* * *

It was five am when Hermione, Ron, Draco, and Harry finished up gathering and sending out luggage for Molly. Although this was the night of the finals, many teams and international visitors intended to stay a few days in the country. Not only was it a splendid opportunity for cultural exchange and for the Ministry to keep up a good name, but it gave everyone in the Order an excuse to stick around in case any funny business happened.

Some time passed between them arriving at the apparition point and finding Bill erecting the last of the three tents they had packed.

"Oi! Liam!" Draco shouted as the group walked closer, "where is my lazy arse-of-a-husband and why isn't he out here helping you?"

"I resent that!" George hollered from the middle tent, emerging from it a moment later with a pile of blankets stacked higher than his head. "For your information, I've been setting up inside that bloody dinosaur that Mad-Eye lent us since its triple wards don't allow for any extra modifications."

"Are you sure you weren't taking a nap in there?" Ron heckled.

"Ah stuff it, Reggie," George pouted.

"Would love to, but alas," Ron feinted dramatically, "the children will be here soon with Dad, and perish the thought of us soiling their innocence with such foul play."

His eldest brother chuckled, "you lot are too sarcastic for your own good."

"It keeps things interesting," Draco explained, "now what's with all these blankets then? Didn't you have enough time to make the beds?"

"That I did, love, and what fine beds they are" George declared haughtily, "but if memory serves, and it does since it was only nine years ago, this morning was particularly frigged and everyone was without breakfast. Which mum forgot to pack because she was in such a rush corralling us out the door. Hence, I've got blankets now, and a full English waiting inside their tent."

Just then, the fourteen year-old Ron ran up to them, losing his breath in the process, "sorry…did you say…breakfast?"

"Why yes I did, Ronnie," George smirked at the older version of his brother. The man known as Reginald hated that nickname as a child, but Ron for some reason was secretly delighted by the pet name his uncles—yes uncles, even Harry got in on it—had dubbed him five years before when they "returned" from France.

Ron broke out into a grin before hugging the man, "you're my favorite, Uncle Greg."

"What am I? Chopped liver? Standing right here you know," Draco whined, "you could at least wait until I left before calling favorites."

"Sorry, Uncle Damian," reaching over to kiss the blond on the cheek, Ron was in the middle of his growth spurt and had already surpassed Irini and Harper in height. He was just at Damian's height and about to top him too. "It's just Greg has food," the boy confessed, "and I'm starved. Mum didn't give us anything this morning."

"Yes, so I heard," frowned, "you go on inside and start eating before your brothers and cousins take the lot."

Ron hugged him again in excitement and scurried into the tent.

Greg then proceeded to pull his husband closer and wrap his arms around the blond's waist. "I can never get over how good you are with them."

Damian scrunched his nose up in disdain, "I happen to like children. You know, now that I have the energy and patience to deal with them."

"You mean once you went soft on us," the redhead taunted.

"Well, there's always the fact that Weasleys spread mushy sentiment like a bad case of Dragon Pox."

The rest of the group was coming up the hill out of the forest that separated the grounds of the Cup from the isolated muggle settlements nearby. Arthur, Molly and Amos Diggory lead them. The Weasley twins trailed behind, obviously plotting up a storm with Blaise and Draco. Neville, Ginny and Luna pretended to look innocent while ease dropping on the other four. So far, everything seemed to be going just fine.

"Wait a second," Liam stopped the new arrivals before they split into their assigned tents. "Where in bloody blazes are Harry and Hermione?"

The two were both in Ravenclaw and Hermione was the rebellious protégé of Fred and George. A fact that made all the adults laugh at to no end, and an irony which was completely lost on the Hogwarts gang. She often dragged a hesitant Harry along with her. Sometimes Ron, even Draco, tagged along, but mainly to see if she had decided to get away with a daring act, or to get in trouble and make a big show of it. She did have a conscious, a very conflicted one at that, so sometimes she fumbled at the last second when her guilt won out against her ambition.

Everyone was looking about for the two when shouts came from over head.

"WATCH OUT!"

"MOVE IT OR LOSE IT!"

Ducking and hitting the ground instinctively, the Weasleys, Diggorys and Prewetts looked up and saw the two zooming past on a broom, with the Bulgarians' insignia on it, just as they crashed into the middle tent that housed their temporary accommodations. Fortunately, the wards were strong enough on it that the Ravenclaws bounced off of it and tumbled on the ground.

"Hermione Jean Granger!" Irini Prewett chastised as she helped Luna up, "What in Morgana's name do you think you're doing? Taking a joy ride with a broom that clearly isn't yours, and making poor Harry ride behind as you fall out of the sky?"

"I'm ok, Aunt Irini," Harry insisted. "Really, I am. Hermione just needs more practice."

She went over and checked the boy from head to toe, quickly doing some preliminary scans to make sure none of his old injuries were acting up because of the crash. "And what do you have to say for yourself young lady?"

Hermione shrugged, "Victor Krum was cute, said I could take the crap prototype Nimbus gave him out for a joy ride so he'd have an excuse to use his regular broom. I was just helping a bloke out."

* * *

_A/N: I just read a post on tumblr about the difference between blond and blonde. _

_A) I did not know that _

_B) I started using blonde back in middle school b/c it sounded prettier (I'm going to be a freshmen in college in august)_

_I guess you learn something new every day_


End file.
